


Fire in Her Eyes: The 61st Hunger Games

by MoonlightSalsa



Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [11]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mental Illness, Pyromania, schitzophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 13,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26509822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightSalsa/pseuds/MoonlightSalsa
Summary: If the eyes are a window to the soul, then District Seven wished Sylvia Morris would shut the curtains.
Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692511
Comments: 43
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! New story y'all! 
> 
> I'd just like to start this off by saying that the main character in this story has schizophrenia (and pyromania) however it's not going to be completely medically or scientifically accurate. I've exaggerated or deemphasized some things for the sake of the story. 
> 
> I just wanted to give you guys a heads up :) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The people of District Seven weren't too upset when Sylvia Morris was reaped for the Sixty-First Hunger Games. Pitied her, yes, like they pitied all their tributes, but the only people who actually cried and wailed for their loss were her family. 

Sylvia was infamous in the District for her extremely unsettling and worrying behaviour. Many people knew about her, and stayed far away from her, not wanting to be wrapped up in the craziness that surrounded her. They even kept her whole family at arm’s length, just because they were guilty by association. 

_There’s something seriously wrong with her,_ her neighbors would whisper to one another over their fences. _She’s got a crazy look in her eyes._

Sylvia had never really understood why everyone avoided her like the plague, but to be honest, she didn't really care. She was fine on her own. 

It was because other people didn't see even half the stuff that she saw regularly by the time she was reaped for the Games. She was by herself in this regard, a lone girl witnessing two different worlds at the same time. All its inhabitants and eccentricities were unknown to everyone else in the other. 

She was a girl of few words. She had gone from a shy, but polite, child to someone who rarely spoke at all. Her answers were brief and to the point. She had never sat down with someone and had a proper conversation with them. Never discussing her fears, hopes, dreams. 

It didn't really matter, anyway. Sometimes, when she was in the middle of talking, her thoughts of what she would say next would suddenly disappear from her mind, like they had been snatched away by forces unseen, leaving her without anything more to say. She would just abruptly stop talking. 

She called this phenomenon Mavrorin. Only she seemed to understand what it meant and how it felt, however. And because of Mavrorin, she limited the things she said, not wanting to be caught off guard by her thoughts vanishing like they never existed. 

Sylvia was a born loner, never once having a single (normal) friend since she was younger. This didn't bother her. No one really understood all her thoughts, feelings and everything, anyway. What point was there in making friends if they didn't understand, anyway? 

Such solitude made the neighbours feel uneasy. _“It's not right for her to be alone all the time,”_ they whispered in the privacy of their own homes, _“why doesn't she make some friends, interact with someone else for a change?_

Even Sylvia’s appearance was enough to put people off. Her light and fluffy blonde hair was always wild and unkempt, her only effort at tidying it up being for her to absentmindedly run her fingers through it. She often went days without a bath. Her brown eyes sometimes took on an eerie, glazed look, as she constantly observed both worlds around her. 

To other people, it looked as if she was staring into space, her line of sight appearing to transcend time and space, staring out at that which only she could see. If the eyes are a window to the soul, then District Seven wished Sylvia would shut the curtains. No one needed - or wanted - to see what was inside. 

The once shy, well-behaved and mild-mannered child had turned into an unrecognizable teenager who spoke to things that weren't there and had rare but violent outbursts. 

She had evolved from normalcy to someone nobody wanted to be around. 

And no one could figure out why. 

Then it turned out she also had a passion for pyromania. 

From an early age, Sylvia had discovered the deadly beauty of the flames as she, then nine years old, had attempted to touch the fire in the hearth in her home. She was rushed to the local doctor with the skin of her right hand burned. She did not cry, only staring at her hand with something like awe in her eyes. 

The burn was painful, yes, but that didn't matter to Sylvia. She was enamoured with the raw power of fire and its ability to spread, destroy, injure. 

Even _kill._


	2. Chapter 2

And so began a dangerous relationship between Sylvia and fire. In the years that followed, there were many attempts to set things on fire. At first, she'd gather up a big pile of leaves and branches in her backyard and light it up with a match. In seconds, every leaf in the pile would be alight and her mother would be clutching the back door frame, screaming for her to put it out. 

This happened at least twice before she wasn't allowed access to the matches or lighters, but she found ways around that. 

When she was eleven, she smuggled her brother’s spare pair of glasses from his room one morning before school. During recess she collected every leaf and branch on the school field into a pile big enough to feed a small bonfire. The other kids watched her from the other side of the field, their fear of her not dampening their curiosity. 

Sylvia stood back and pulled the glasses from her pocket, raising them up to the sun, positioning them this way and that until she got the perfect angle. Before long, some of the leaves started to smoke. Grey wisps danced in the crisp autumn air above the pile. It was beautiful, she thought. 

By the time the kids realized what she was doing and ran to get a teacher, the pile was ablaze, Sylvia standing back and laughing as she watched the branches crackle and pop which, to her, looked and sounded just like fireworks. 

By the time the teachers evacuated the school and alerted the fire services, half the field and several classrooms were burnt to a crisp and the surrounding buildings narrowly avoided the same fate. The thick black smoke permeated the air for the next several days. 

Sylvia was promptly expelled. She never returned to another school. No one would take her. 

Her family kept an extraordinarily close eye on her after that. 

The Peacekeepers, originally under the assumption that Sylvia was just a foolish child who didn't fully understand the gravity of what she attempted, hoped that threatening to send her to prison if she so much as even looked at another match would scare her straight and she wouldn't attempt anything like that again. 

Sylvia obeyed them for a few months, until she just couldn't help herself and tried to set fire to the neighbour’s apple tree using a stolen lighter. Amidst the screams of the neighbour and the smell of burnt fruit, the Peacekeepers stuck to their word. They came by and took Sylvia away as she thrashed violently. 

No trial of any sort was needed, in the eyes of the Peacekeepers. She'd already proven herself to be dangerous. Her age didn't matter either. She was deemed a menace and thrown straight into a dingy stone cell shared with three other girls, all in for robbery. They pressed their backs against the wall as they slept with one eye open, keeping their distance from her. 

The other inmates didn't care for her either. _“The creepy fire girl”_ was how they referred to her. Sylvia didn't much care for them either and simply ignored them. She often spent what little free time she had gazing out the window to the treetops beyond, daydreaming about being surrounded by fire; glorious fire eating away at everything in sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Several years passed by slowly. Sylvia was put to work around the prison, mostly cleaning and yard work. Whenever she picked up a bundle of branches to clear away, the shiver of Colba ran through her. 

Her family came to visit her once a week. Due to Mavrorin happening at some inconvenient times, very little was ever said on Sylvia’s end as she listened to her family chatter away about the various happenings since the time they saw her last. They would always ask her how she was doing and her answer every time was “so-so.” 

She meant it too. 

The prison wasn't completely terrible. She had a bed and food, none of the inmates bothered her, and though she was under strict supervision, she could go outside…

...But she never had the chance to try and start anything. 

It was such a shame she was in here. District Seven was surrounded by trees; it was practically made to be burnt to the ground! She wanted so desperately to be the one to strike the match, to watch it all turn to smokey ash. 

The sight of fire erupting brought out something deeply animalistic from within her. Watching the flames lick at the air brought forth the urge to run, dance, laugh, scream. It made her feel mischievous and gleeful and excited. It made her feel _alive._

She called this feeling Colba. 

Likewise, fire could not bloom if she did not give it the chance to do so. They had to coexist to give each other the chance to truly live. 

It was a connection that was centuries old. She'd heard the stories of cavemen discovering fire for the first time, awestruck at its ability to cook and heat and provide warmth and light. It saved and improved their lives. 

She could only imagine their shock when they realized just how powerful, fast and _deadly_ it could be. 

She knew. She'd been touched by it before. It had marked her hand. The scars would never leave her. She didn't want them to. They were a reminder, a testament to the timeless power and glory of fire.


	4. Chapter 4

The Fire Spirit hadn't always been a part of her life, but once it showed up, it was like they'd known each other for her whole life. 

Sylvia first encountered it in the courtyard, when she was raking up leaves, shortly before her sixteenth birthday. One second she'd raked them into one big pile; the second, she'd been aware of someone watching her. She looked up to see a wispy black figure, vaguely human shaped, beckoning to her. She stepped forward, and the figure spoke to her in a deep, raspy voice. 

_“Are you a child of fire, too?”_

Sylvia nodded. 

_“Excellent. I've been looking for someone like you. Someone who can keep the flames alive as they bring forth a new age to this filthy land.”_

Sylvia nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. 

And just like that, the Fire Spirit became Sylvia’s friend. 

A psychiatrist would explain to her, many years later, that sometimes her hallucinations and delusions could be directly related to one another, but at this point in time Sylvia didn't know that. She was just glad to have a friend who truly understood her. 

Around the time the Fire Spirit showed up, she began to see and hear things that, logically, shouldn't be possible. But this was a view only held by outsiders. To Sylvia, they weren't illogical or impossible, because they were happening right in front of her. The things she saw, they simply _were._ They are. They will be. 

She heard screams and whispered conversations when there was no one else around. She saw figures moving in the darkness when everyone else was asleep. She saw curious oddities that would scare anyone else. 

These things, however, were just part of her life. She lived from day to day with these occurrences, the Fire Spirit being the most common, as well as being her favourite. 

_One day,_ the Fire Spirit whispered to her, _one day this world will burn._

 _And when it does,_ Sylvia whispered back, _I'll be watching it happen. It's going to be fantastic._


	5. Chapter 5

There was, however, one major worry that Sylvia had, one that no one could help her with. Not even the Fire Spirit. 

The Weatherman. 

He was the antithesis of the Fire Spirit. He was the bringer of rain, the one weakness of fire. He wanted to snuff out the flames for good. 

He stood against everything that Sylvia stood for. 

She hated him. 

But she also feared him. 

She could not bear to look outside when it was raining, unable to bring herself to see the sodden world beyond the prison. She hated how the environment changed for the worse. 

After all, you can’t start a fire with wet wood and soggy leaves. 

Every time she caught sight of his silvery form, she couldn’t help but tremble. He’d chuckle hauntedly at her fear. 

He loved to make her feel powerless. 

He loved to stir her into a frenzy by telling her that fire was obsolete, that it wasn’t as powerful as she thought. 

He loved the idea of drowning the world, the idea of the whole world being swallowed up by foamy waves more powerful than anybody could ever dream of. 

Every time he showed up, Sylvia would glare at him, angrily trying to hold back tears as she spewed vicious words and hurled the nearest objects at him, startling those around her. 

But, no matter how hard she tried, she was never able to hurt him.


	6. Chapter 6

Those in prison were not exempt from being reaped, so when the day came they were marched into the courtyard just like everybody else. Parents eyed the prison uniforms warily, hoping that one of them will be reaped, rather than their own children. If there was anyone who, it could be argued, _deserved_ to go into the Games, it was the juvenile delinquents. 

The escort, a particularly flouncy woman named Petunia, plucked a slip out of the girls’ bowl and excitedly walked back to the microphone. She broke the seal on the paper and unfolded it, the crinkling sounding across the District. She read the name and smiled at the crowd of nervous wrecks below her. 

“Sylvia Morris!” 

The only sounds were the wails of her family, and the near-silent sighs of relief from others as the sixteen-year-old made her way onto the stage. 

Petunia smiled warmly in greeting, but it dropped off her face the second she looked into the girl’s glassy eyes, and took note of the uniform she was wearing. She cleared her throat awkwardly and moved over to the boys’ bowl. 

The male tribute, twelve-year-old Markus, was too afraid to look her in the eye as they shook hands. 

In the Justice Building, the only people who came to say goodbye were her family. 

Yes she was creepy, yes she was a pyromaniac, yes she was a criminal, but at the end of the day she was still their daughter and they loved her very much. 

The love of a mother, father and brother can know no bounds. They hugged and kissed her and told her to come back home. 

Then she was escorted to the train by the same Peacekeepers who took her to prison several years before. 

A few hours later, she sat at one end of the dinner table tucking into the luxurious food, while Markus, the two mentors, Berry and Logan; and the two other Victors along for the ride, Blight and Darren, watched her cautiously. They, like most others in the District, had heard of “that Morris girl”, which was how the adults referred to her, with distaste in their voices. 

Berry and Logan gazed at each other. Logan had already called dibs on mentoring the boy, but Berry _really_ did not want to be near Sylvia. Logan was much more of a “people person” and could probably handle her better. But Logan was thoroughly creeped out by her and wanted nothing more than to not have to mentor her. In all his fifty years alive he'd seen many tributes come and go, but none had made him feel more uneasy than the girl sitting across from him. 

Blight and Darren stated that they weren't on mentor duty this year, and therefore wanted nothing to do with her. 

They watched the other reapings in silence. It was the standard sort of roster: deadly beauties from One; brutes from Two; promising warriors from Four; sobbing and underfed kids from various other Districts. The announcers, Caesar and Claudius, made comments on every tribute, ranging from spotting a possible Victor (the boy from Two) to the tributes’ physique to whether any of them might have hidden talents. 

Then they got to Sylvia. They paid attention to the faces of the crowd and Petunia’s reaction. When they finally saw Sylvia mount the stage they raised their eyebrows. 

“As you can all probably see there, this Sylvia Morris girl is wearing a prison uniform.” Claudius said. 

“Makes you wonder what she did to get locked up.” Caesar added. 

“I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. Look, even Petunia’s a bit scared! Sylvia seems like someone to keep your eyes on!” And then they moved on to how tiny Markus was and if he’d make it out of the bloodbath alive. 

Once the reapings were over, Logan stood up and stretched his legs. “Well, now that that's over, Markus, we should start talking about strategy. I know some tips and tricks for getting sponsors…” 

Markus eagerly followed him to the other end of the carriage and sat down across from him. As Logan began to talk about playing up a “cute innocent child” angle, he sneaked a glance at Berry. She was silently fuming over having been left with creepy Sylvia with no choice. 

Damn it, Logan!


	7. Chapter 7

Berry’s attempts to discuss life-saving advice didn't go very well. At first, Sylvia looked as if she was paying attention; she was quiet, sitting still and idly gnawing on a chicken bone. But then Berry noticed that Sylvia wasn't looking at her like she first thought: she was actually looking at some point just past Berry’s head, and all her words were going in one ear and out the other. 

She was, for all intents and purposes, entirely in her own world, not bothering to interact with the world she _belonged_ in. 

Berry called it a night early and grabbed a bottle of cherry wine. She couldn't afford to get too drunk - she still had a tribute to watch over, after all - but she knew she was in for a long couple of weeks so why not relax a little? 

As Berry dozed off in a drunken dreamland, Sylvia was cocooned in her blankets, with only her head poking out. She watched with silent interest as the shadow people danced along the walls and ceiling of her room as the lights emanating from passing Districts shone through the uncovered windows. 

It was pretty. She liked pretty things.


	8. Chapter 8

Sylvia remained still and quiet as her prep team dressed her up in a tree costume: light brown skirt and top marbled with a darker brown, to resemble a tree trunk; and a bulky, branchy leaf headdress. It was an uninspired and bland costume, to say the least. 

The crowd thought so too, and it was fair to say that District Seven were not favourites this year. District One, as usual, stole the show, with their dazzling bejewelled costumes and bright smiles. 

Markus was mortified by his costume, looking as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, and Sylvia just stared straight ahead with not the slightest flicker of emotion. 

After the parade, their stylist tutted, exclaiming how they'd never get any sponsors with those _looks_ on their faces. Markus just nodded dejectedly. Sylvia didn't say anything at all.


	9. Chapter 9

If Berry had any doubts over what Sylvia would do in the arena, the first day of training dashed those doubts beyond question. 

Sylvia had parked herself at the fire-starting station all day and hadn't moved. She was the last to go to lunch and the first to leave. She had no interest in any other station; she was perfectly content to watch the instructor demonstrate how to start a fire the old-fashioned way, and then try it out herself. 

It was slow at first, but now that she had proper guidance and instructions, progress was quickly made. Just after she got back from lunch, she finally started a fire without the help of matches or lighters. The light bloomed in her eyes as she sat back, massaging her sore hands and admiring her effort. 

“There you go,” the instructor said, smiling wearily. “You've gotten the hang of it! Now why don't you go try some other stations?” 

Sylvia shook her head and reached for more wood. 

The instructor inwardly groaned. “Come on now, it's time to let others have a turn.” Indeed, the instructor had overheard several tributes complaining about Sylvia hogging the station. “Why don't you go try the obstacle course?” 

Again, Sylvia shook her head. 

“It's a mandatory activity,” the instructor's voice was gradually starting to sound more desperate and strained, “so you may as well go and get it over with. And there are many other stations more important than this one.” 

Why wouldn't this girl just leave? 

Eventually the Peacekeepers had to intervene. They harshly told her that she'd better go find something else to do, or there'd be consequences. 

Sylvia figured it would be better to obey them. As much as she would love to stay at the fire-starting station forever, she wasn't too keen on finding out first-hand what the consequences were. Besides, the day had been very productive. She'd learned so much. And there would only be a few short days until she could put her new-found skills to use. She could be patient. She could hold on until then. 

She'd make the Fire Spirit happy. 

She drifted around from station to station, before she finally stopped at the camouflage station. As her eyes flitted over the red, orange and yellow paints, the Fire Spirit curled itself over her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and reached for the paints. 

Specifically, the red, orange, yellow and white paints. 

She cleared a space on the table and began to paint. 

Nearly an hour went by before Lord from District One passed by the table, idly glancing at it. He stopped abruptly, did a double take, and walked backwards back to the table and stared at it in confusion. 

“What the hell is that?” he said loudly, pointing at Sylvia’s handiwork. 

Sylvia glanced at him proudly. “The Weatherman.” 

In the centre of the table’s surface were several black smears in a vaguely human shape. Surrounding the figure was an expanse of red, orange, yellow and white tongues of acrylic flames. 

Lord furrowed his brow. “The _weatherman?_ ” 

Sylvia nodded. “He deserves this. He deserves to be burnt with the world.” Her voice took on an angry edge as she continued. “He doesn't understand. What else are we supposed to do with him?” 

“Okay…” Lord slowly turned around and walked back to the rest of the Careers. Then followed several minutes of hushed conversation as he shared what he had seen. 

“The weatherman?” his District partner blinked in confusion. “What has she got against the weatherman?”


	10. Chapter 10

The second day of training, Sylvia made a beeline for the fire-starting station. 

As soon as the instructor there saw her, he knew he was in for a long couple of hours. 

Now that Sylvia had, at long-last, gotten the hang of starting fires the old-fashioned way, she was itching to perfect her craft. 

Or, more accurately, she was itching to burn something. 

Unfortunately for her, she was only permitted to use the station for an hour. She was told by a Peacekeeper that the station is for everyone to use, not for one person to hog, and while she was allowed to practice a little more, she would, eventually, have to find something else to do. 

Sylvia stayed for the hour, grumbling to the Fire Spirit about how unfair it all was. 

The Fire Spirit agreed, but told her to be patient. Once she was in the arena, no one would stop her from doing what has to be done. 

When her hour was up, she grumpily made her way to a random station - knot tying - and ignored the instructions on how to make a snare, instead choosing to idly fumble round with a coil of wire. 

Meanwhile, Markus had managed to score himself a couple of allies: Cable from Three and Daisy from Eleven - the only other twelve-year-olds. They sat huddled in a group at the foragery station, looking over at Sylvia with wide, terrified eyes. 

Markus, of course, had told them all about his District partner, and now all three of them were scared of what she could do. They made plans to ensure they stayed as far away as possible, even though they weren't even in the arena yet. 

“Y-You say she l-likes to burn things?” Cable squeaked. Unluckily for him, he had an intense phobia of fire, so the very thought of Sylvia took on a much more terrifying presence in his mind. 

Markus nodded gravely. “Yes. My uncle works in the prison, and he says so. He also says that she talks to things that aren't even there.” 

“That's really creepy,” Daisy shuddered. 

“Yeah. My mom always says that the lights are on, but nobody's home, whatever that means.”


	11. Chapter 11

Dinner for the District Seven team that night was a luscious lamb stew with plums, with cherry clafoutis for dessert, all served with a sweet, sticky wine. 

The atmosphere at the table, however, was not as nice. 

Berry was uncomfortably silent, having had little success with having a full-fledged conversation with Sylvia. All she said, somewhat angrily, was that training was “so-so”. 

Logan, on the other hand, was able to make small talk with Markus about his allies, along with giving him tips for his private session the next day. Markus answered all his questions, but it was obvious that he wasn't particularly receptive to them today. Probably just nerves, Logan thought. 

Then he turned his attention to Sylvia. 

He'd drunk two and a half glasses of wine and was feeling a little brazen. He decided that there wouldn't be any harm in trying to get a few more words out of Sylvia than just “so-so”. 

“So, Sylvia,” he began, “how was training today?” 

“So-so,” Sylvia responded, a common catchphrase at this point. 

“Aw, come on, you can give me more than that! What did you do?” 

“They wouldn't let me create lots of fire. They said I could only stay for an hour.” 

“Oh, really? Why is that?” Logan fully knew the answer to that, but he wasn't going to let this conversation die out so soon. 

“They said that I needed to let-” And just like that, she abruptly stopped talking. Mavrorin had struck again. 

Logan blinked, making sure that Sylvia really had just stopped in the middle of her sentence. 

“What was that about?” 

Sylvia had her head bowed down to her plate, but her eyes flitted up at Logan. She said only one word: “Mavrorin.” 

Logan blinked again. “I'm sorry?” 

“Mavrorin. I hate it when it happens.” Sylvia refused to elaborate, and the four Victors shared a confused look round the table. Even the Avoxes standing to attention nearby seemed unsettled. 

Sylvia kept on eating, having said enough for the evening.


	12. Chapter 12

For her last day of training, Sylvia did all the mandatory activities that she'd neglected for the previous two days. Then she finished it off with one more permitted hour at the fire-starting station. 

She sat patiently and talked with the Fire Spirit as she waited for her private session to begin. This drew odd looks her way, especially when she laughed at a rude comment about the Weatherman so loudly and shrilly that it caught the attention of every single person in the room. 

The two Peacekeepers standing guard exchanged a look. 

The tributes sitting on either side of her (Markus and the boy from Six) shifted further away from her, so much so that Markus was practically sitting in the lap of the girl from Eight. 

Finally, it was Sylvia’s turn in the next room and the remaining tributes breathed a silent sigh of relief as soon as the door slid shut behind her. 

The Gamemakers watched with interest as she headed straight for the fire-starting station. They'd heard from the instructor about her apparent love for that station, and so they were intrigued to see more.

Sylvia quickly got to work piling up as much wood as she could in one corner of the station. She reserved two pieces of wood and placed them into position, just like how she'd been taught. 

She then began to frantically twist the top piece relentlessly over the bottom piece. Before long, wisps of smoke trailed up from the bottom and Sylvia’s face lit up in an excited smile. 

The small flames slowly but surely began to envelop the wood. Soon they grew bigger and bigger and Sylvia couldn't be happier. 

She carefully picked up the blazing wood and threw it onto the prepared wood pile and watched gleefully as all that wood too began to burn ever so brightly. 

As the smoke rose up towards the ceiling in thick wafts, the instructor approached with a fire extinguisher in hand, ready to put the fire out, now that Sylvia had demonstrated her proficiency in fire-starting. 

Sylvia didn't realize what that cylindrical red object was until it started spraying foam all over her hard work. 

And just like that, it was like a switch had been flipped. 

Sylvia lunged at the instructor. 

He collapsed under her weight and she used the opportunity to kneel on his chest and press her hands down hard on his throat. Her eyes were full of a burning, intense rage. 

He was working for the Weatherman! She just knew it! He was an imposter! He acted all kind, showing her how to create the beauty of fire, then he turns around and puts it out! 

He betrayed her! He betrayed the Fire Spirit! 

Well, if she can't kill the Weatherman, then she'll kill his minions! 

Right as the instructor’s face was starting to turn a hideous shade of purple, two Peacekeepers rushed over and roughly pried the two apart. One helped the instructor to his feet. The other held onto Sylvia tightly as she kicked and thrashed, screaming all the while, _“He's with the Weatherman! He's with the Weatherman! Kill him! He has to die!”_

Sylvia was quickly subdued and handcuffed. She was forcefully escorted to her floor. The elevator doors chimed, and as Berry and Logan watched on in horror, Sylvia was sat in a chair and restrained to it. 

Two Peacekeepers stood next to her, guarding her, as a third explained to the shocked mentors what had just transpired. 

“She WHAT?!” Berry screeched. 

“What on earth possessed her to do something like that?” Logan said, incredulous. 

“Beats me,” the Peacekeeper shrugged. “She kept screaming about the weatherman and how he has to die, I think?” He glanced over at Sylvia fighting her restraints and his comrades tightening their grips on their weapons. Frowning, he turned back to Berry. 

“That's not a girl you’re mentoring,” he said with disgust, “that's a wild animal.” 

“I'm starting to think you're right,” Berry responded, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Later on, the District Seven team were gathered around the television screen to watch the scores. Sylvia sat by herself, far away from everyone else save for the two Peacekeepers who, annoyingly, continued to flank either side of her. 

All the Careers got nines and tens. The highest-scoring outlier, the boy from Six, received an eight. 

Markus scored a three. 

For her efforts, Sylvia was awarded a one.


	13. Chapter 13

Sylvia’s prep team was understandably wary around her after being informed of what happened to the instructor. But they still had a job to do. And they were going to do it well. 

Firstly, upon smelling the stench cloud that surrounded her from not having had a bath since arriving in the Capitol, they gave her an extra long one. 

Secondly, they brushed out her hair into a shiny curtain, then expertly styled it into curls that bobbed about her shoulders. 

Thirdly, they had her step into her dress and heels, then painted makeup across her face. 

Finally, they stood her in front of a full-length mirror so that she could see the results of their hard work. 

Sylvia’s dress was composed of a plain white underdress with a simple cut, and a partially see-through outer layer made from a floaty baby-blue material. Her feet were slipped into silver sandals with straps that criss-crossed up her legs. Her lips were a bright cherry-red colour and her eyelashes were thick with mascara. 

This neat, perfumed girl was a far cry from the messy, unhygienic one back home. 

Sylvia was pretty. She liked pretty things. 

She touched her reflection with gentle fingers. “Are you seeing this?” she asked the Fire Spirit. 

_“Yes, I see you,”_ the Fire Spirit responded, and that was all she wanted to hear. 

The stylist, thinking that Sylvia was talking to her, said, “Of course! You look lovely!” 

Sylvia looked at her, confused. “I wasn't talking to you.” 

“Then who were you talking to?” 

“The Fire Spirit.” 

Now it was the stylist’s turn to be confused. “What's the Fire Spirit?” 

Sylvia gave a small, genuine smile. “My best friend.”


	14. Chapter 14

When it was time for her interview, Sylvia was marched out to her seat by two Peacekeepers, who stood guard on either side of her as she sat down. 

The crowd took note of that immediately and fell silent. Still though, their curiosity was thick in the air. Just who _was_ this girl, with the prison uniform from the reaping and the lowest training score and the bodyguards - evidently not there to protect her, but those around her _from_ her. 

Caesar knew this too. And not only would he answer the crowd’s questions, but he'd give Sylvia the best damn interview ever. Just like with all the other tributes. 

He took his seat across from Sylvia and asked her his first question: “So Sylvia, tell us: what have you enjoyed the most about your visit to the Capitol so far?” 

A standard question, but an interesting one nonetheless. One could tell a lot about a person by the answer they gave, whether that be the food, fashion, people, or even the neon lights that continuously lit up the buildings. 

Sylvia responded, a little shyly, “The fire-starting station.” 

Caesar raised an eyebrow - canary-yellow this year - as Sylvia said nothing more. “Really, now? Why is that?” 

“Because fire is a glorious thing, of course. And I must spread the work of the Fire Spirit.” 

Caesar turned to face the crowd. The faces in the front few rows were just as perplexed as he was. Nevertheless, he looked back at Sylvia. 

“Would you mind telling us a little more about this Fire Spirit?” 

Sylvia blushed a little as she played with her curls. “He is a glorious being. And he is also my best friend.” 

Someone far out in the crowd awwed, despite the cryptic nature of her words. Evidently, Sylvia was starting to garner a fanbase. 

Caesar gave a smile. “Well, it's good to have friends.” Then his face took on a slightly more serious look. “Now, when we all saw you at the reaping, you were wearing a prison uniform. Would you be willing to tell us what you had been arrested for?” 

Sylvia began to play with her fingers. “I set my neighbour’s apple tree on fire. It was sort of like doing the Fire Spirit’s work, even though I didn't really know who he was at the time. I just felt this urge to do it, so I did.” 

Caesar nodded without really understanding, then decided to change the subject. “Now, we've all heard quite a few surprising whispers regarding your private session. Of course, we’re not allowed to find out what happened, but could you at least give us a hint?” 

Sylvia’s face darkened considerably. “The Weatherman sent one of his despicable minions to destroy our work. I tried to do what I had to, but everyone stopped me.” She practically spat out her words. 

“Well, as a matter of fact,” Caesar said uneasily, “the weatherman is in the crowd tonight.” 

Sylvia’s head shot up and her eyes rapidly darted around with disgust and - was that fear? 

A spotlight moved to shine on a man in the third row from the front. He had powdery-white skin, lavender hair and looked equal parts annoyed and uncomfortable. 

“Justinian Flounce, from Capitol News. He, and I'm sure everyone else, would like to know why you seem to hate him so much.” Caesar gestured in his direction and looked at Sylvia, awaiting whatever her answer was going to be. 

Sylvia peered into the crowd, confused. “That's not the Weatherman.” 

“I assure you he is,” Caesar began, “our one and only…” 

“He's _a_ weatherman, not _the_ Weatherman.” Sylvia adamantly stated. “The Weatherman is much more evil than some guy on the television.” 

“How so?” 

“He summons rain to put out the fire. And-” Sylvia gripped the armrests of her chair so tight the tips of her fingers turned white. “-he is a terrible, rude being who deserves to die.” 

Caesar opened his mouth - possibly to ask a follow-up question - but just then the buzzer rang out. Sylvia’s time on stage was over. Caesar put on a wide smile and stood up, discreetly gesturing for Sylvia to stand up too. 

“Sylvia Morris from District Seven, everyone!” 

The crowd clapped, more out of politeness than anything else, and Sylvia was quickly ushered offstage by the Peacekeepers. The Capitolites had gotten some answers to their questions, but now they had even more questions. 

Sylvia, meanwhile, was just glad that Mavrorin hadn’t decided to show up and ruin things. She hated it when that happened.


	15. Chapter 15

Sylvia sat on the windowsill of the dining room, a mug of hot chocolate in hand, as she watched the sky slowly light up with the first tentative rays of dawn. She had only slept lightly for a few hours before waking up, and now she was sitting by the window watching the city rise from its equally restless slumber. 

She had a big day today. Even though she had a plan, she was still a little worried. Apart from Berry, no other Seven girl had ever made it home before. She'd grown up seeing Seven’s tributes die in an assortment of gruesome, painful ways, and really didn't want that same fate to befall her. 

People think that she's some creepy weirdo, but even creepy weirdos get scared, too. 

Despite the Fire Spirit whispering encouraging words to her, she couldn't shake that feeling of excitement-laced dread. 

Her hands tightened around her mug as she took a sip. 

Fire _will_ be her salvation. If it all goes to plan, that is. She just has to be careful. Even if the arena works in her favour, she cannot afford to screw up. 

Not only would she die horribly, but the Fire Spirit would never forgive her for leaving him. 

She had to live so she wouldn't die, and she had to live so she could enact what the Fire Spirit wanted her to enact upon the Earth. 

Hellfire.


	16. Chapter 16

Her launch room was lit in an ominous way that made her nerves tighten. In just sixty seconds, she would be in the arena. She would see her surroundings. If it was a tundra or beach or anything like that, she would be screwed. 

Her stylist gave her a russet-brown jacket, standard wear for District Seven’s tributes. It was thin, but comfortable. She hugged her arms around herself, feeling the warmth from her tense limbs. 

Then a disembodied voice stated, _“Thirty seconds,”_ and the door to the glass tube slid open with a soft hiss. 

Sylvia walked over to it very slowly, savouring every step she took as if it would be her last. As she stepped into the tube, the voice came back: _“Ten seconds.”_

Sylvia looked at her stylist, at the neutral expression on her face, as the tube’s door swung closed. Instantly, the tube began to rise and Sylvia craned her head back, hoping to catch her first glimpse of the arena. 

_This is it,_ she thought to herself. _Moment of truth._


	17. Chapter 17

As Sylvia’s head emerged into the arena, she could've given a shout of joy. 

This arena was _perfect!_

Surrounding the clearing where the cornucopia sat was a large expanse of trees covered in red and gold leaves. The entire ground, she could see, was also covered in leaves. In the far distance, she could make out some sort of rocky feature that encircled them. 

The sky above them was completely overcast. There were no other colours to be seen apart from this glorious rainbow of red, gold, orange and brown. 

Well, apart from the tribute uniforms. 

To Sylvia’s left was the bottle-green jacket of the boy from Nine, and to her right was the coal-black jacket of the girl from Twelve. And all the way on the other side of the semi-circle they all stood in, she could see Markus next to one of his allies, Daisy from Eleven. 

The countdown displayed above the cornucopia had reached “thirty seconds” and most other tributes had their game faces on. 

Sylvia spied a black backpack nestled in the leaves a few metres from her pedestal that she thought might be useful. She'll need supplies out there. Yes, her mission was important but this moment, as well as the following moments, were more important. If she survived the next ten or so minutes, then she would be home free. 

As the countdown announced the number “twenty”, Sylvia felt her nerves constrict even further. For the past week, she'd been so focused on doing the Fire Spirit’s work that she'd mostly neglected to think about the Games themselves, and what would happen if she found herself on the wrong end of a sword. 

But there was no time to ponder them now. She at least knew to play extremely safely for the next few minutes, then she'll just have to work her way from there. At least the arena plays to her strengths, so she wouldn't be too lost on what to do. 

Ten seconds to go, then it was showtime. 

Sylvia got into a running stance, ready to dash over there, swoop up that backpack, then get the hell out of dodge. 

Just a few more seconds to go… 

And then the Sixty-First Hunger Games had begun. 

Sylvia leaped off her pedestal, feeling the crisp leaves crunch deliciously under her thick boots. She wasted no time in running over to the backpack and closing her fist around one of the straps. 

As she made to run away, she felt a tug on the backpack. She turned to see that the girl from Twelve had had the same idea as her, and wasn't going to give it up easily. 

Sylvia gave a mighty tug on the pack, but the girl dug in her heels and pulled back. Sylvia, already fed up with this girl, lashed out a foot and kicked her in the shin. The girl slid to the ground with a gasp, and Sylvia took the opportunity to wrench the pack from her grasp, then she turned away and sprinted in the opposite direction, sidestepping Gaius from Two as he tried to skewer the boy from Six on his spear. 

Gaius was too preoccupied with what he was doing to give chase, however. 

Sylvia did not stop for anything else, and when she finally cleared the treeline without being followed, she knew that victory was already in reach. 

~*~ 

By the time nightfall arrived, Sylvia, having put sufficient distance between her and her opponents, was already building the first giant pile of leaves. She worked quickly, gathering up leaves and branches and adding them to the pile. She built it up at the base of a tree, the trunk slowly becoming encased in leaves. 

Progress was good so far; she was just hoping that no one would mess with her piles until she was ready to use them. 

She took a break from her gathering and leaned against the trunk of another tree. Through a gap in the leaves above, the seal of the Capitol shone in the sky as the anthem began to blare. 

The total number of bloodbath victims was eight, along with one more death a few hours later. She hadn't paid enough attention during the bloodbath to see who was fighting who, and she hadn't seen another tribute since the bloodbath, so she looked up to see whose faces would be in the sky. 

The girl from Three, both from Six, then Marcus, both from Nine, Daisy, and both from Twelve. Sylvia watched their faces shine, one by one, until they disappeared and the sky grew dark and quiet again. 

Sylvia did, actually, feel a little sorry that Markus had died. Even though she never really knew him, even though he avoided her like the plague, he still seemed like a nice kid. 

After a brief moment of silence, she resumed what she was doing.


	18. Chapter 18

From the mentoring station back in the Capitol, Berry watched her tribute pile leaves around a tree. Her gut ached with a feeling of dread. She knew what was to come. 

She turned to Electra, who was absentmindedly fiddling with her hair as she looked up at the screen, where her tribute was trying to find a comfortable position to sleep on the ground. She seemed bored. 

Berry put a hand on her shoulder. “I hope, for you and your tribute’s sake, that she dies quickly.” 

Electra snapped round to face her, narrowing her eyes. “Is that your way of wishing somebody good luck?” 

“No, it's just that I think my tribute’s going to set the arena on fire…” Berry took a breath, then continued. “I hope no one has to get horribly burned, that's all.” 

Electra turned back to the screen with a roll of her eyes. “Well, duh! If there's fire, then of course somebody's gonna get burned. Don't waste your time hoping for a different outcome.” 

Berry’s shoulders sank. Really, she should have known better than to try and talk to Electra. She was much too cold. Too unsympathetic.


	19. Chapter 19

When Sylvia was done, she was exhausted. The adrenaline rush from that morning, as well all the work she'd done, had worn her out. It was time to rest. 

She positioned herself under a tree opposite the pile, so that she could keep an eye on it. Using her backpack as a pillow, she got comfortable and soon drifted off to sleep. 

She'd lucked out considerably. Her pack contained a full bottle of water, a meat sandwich wrapped in plastic, several small packets of dried fruit (of which she’d already eaten some), a coil of wire and, to her utmost delight, a box of matches. 

They would make things much easier for her. 

But it was still ironic, considering that all that work she’d done in training was all for naught. Still though, it was fun. She was glad she had the opportunity to learn properly. 

Sleep came fairly easily, though she did wake up twice in the dead of night, thinking she'd heard something. When she looked around, she couldn't see anyone. Assuming it was an animal, she lay back down and went to sleep again. 

When morning arrived, Sylvia practically jumped up, grabbed her backpack and, with one last backward glance at her pile, left to find another spot. She walked in a straight line for half an hour, stopping to mark a tree every so often by using a rock to scrape away at the bark in a shape that no one but her could identify. 

After a while, she stopped by the bank of a crystal-clear river. She sat down, drank some water and ate some more dried fruit and half her sandwich, humming to herself all the while. Once she was finished, she gathered up armfuls of leaves and twigs and stacked them up against another tree. 

This task, much like it had yesterday, took several hours. The Capitol audience was a little curious as to how things would turn out, but at the same time it was so monotonous that they instead tuned in to other tributes doing more interesting activities. 

Like, for example, Lord and Gaius stalking Cable. 

The Career pack had split up into groups, each group heading in another direction. The rest of them were goodness knows where. Lord and Gaius were itching with excitement over getting another kill. They couldn't wait to gloat about their fun to the others later on. 

But it was not meant to be. What Cable lacked in raw strength and weapons experience, he made up for in speed and stealth. Though he was on the verge of tears over the thought of a horrible death, he still managed to keep a clear enough head to stay focused on evading the Careers. 

And before long, his trail went cold, and Lord and Gaius had no choice but to give up. 

Cable may have avoided one threat, but he inadvertently wandered straight into the path of another. He emerged from behind a tree and almost ran smack into Sylvia. Sylvia dropped the bundle of twigs she was holding in surprise. 

For a few moments there was silence as the two of them stared wide-eyed at each other. 

The silence was broken by Cable screaming in terror and running back the way he came. 

Sylvia stared after him for a moment, then shrugged and resumed her work.


	20. Chapter 20

Sylvia was finished with her second pile by mid-afternoon. As she had done so before, she packed up her things and crossed the river, walking in another straight line for a while until she found another tree to utilize. 

This tree had a much thicker trunk than the others surrounding it, and, if Sylvia’s visual assessment was correct, it was also taller than the rest. 

Perfect. 

And once more, she gathered up leaves and branches and, in an almost loving manner, piled them up against the tree. 

_This will have to be the last one,_ the Fire Spirit told her. _Then we can unleash the cleansing fire upon this cruel world._

Sylvia nodded obediently. She too was getting impatient. 

But the payoff would be brilliant. She just had to wait. All night, it seemed. The sky was getting darker and she could feel herself fading. 

Alright, she told herself, I just need to wait one more night. Then the fun can begin. 

She slept, restless with excitement, tossing and turning amidst the beautiful red and gold leaves. 

That night, the anthem signaled the deaths of the boy from Four and the girl from Eight. 

And, high up in the tall tree where Sylvia had set up her pile, sat the boy from Eleven, who silently cursed his luck. He'd climbed up the tree to hide, and now he was trapped. He couldn't risk climbing back down without disturbing the pile and potentially awaking, and angering, the crazy girl from Seven. 

Oh, why did it have to be _her?_


	21. Chapter 21

Sylvia's work was finished early in the morning. She stepped back and gazed up the tree. The canopy of leaves and branches were thick and healthy, lending them well to be burnt. Just like every other tree in the whole arena. 

Sylvia’s hands shook with excitement as she took out the box of matches and opened it up. She picked out a match and, taking a deep breath, struck it against the side of the box. She admired the faint glow. So tiny, but so powerful. So deadly. 

She dropped it onto the pile. The whole thing was alight within seconds. A wide smile split open her face as she watched the flames trickle up the tree trunk. 

_Now go do the other piles!_ The Fire Spirit urged her on impatiently. Now that things were finally picking up, he wasn't keen to simply stand back and watch even when everything wasn't all done. Like what Sylvia was doing. 

_Now! Come on Sylvia, it's not over yet! Go now!_

Sylvia obeyed. 

As she sprinted in the direction of the river, following the marks she had made on the trees, the flames spread, the smoke billowed, and a terrified scream cut through the morning air. 

Sylvia ignored it. 

She only had one goal in mind: go do the other piles. She paid no attention to her surroundings except for what was directly in front of her, not even the cannon that boomed minutes later, signaling her first kill. 

She reached the second pile and wasted no time in throwing a lit match onto it as she passed by. She couldn't stop now, not when she was so close! 

It was this determination that carried her all the way back to the first pile she made, and light that one up too. 

Now, with all the piles lit, she changed her direction and headed for the rocky cliffs that encircled the entire arena. She needed to gain some height, if she was going to see the full extent of what she'd done. 

Scrambling up the cliffs was easier said than done, but she still did it. Never mind the fact that she scraped her hands and tore holes through the knees of her trousers and then scraped her knees too, she needed to see. She had to. Desperately. What was the point of putting on a spectacle like this if you couldn't even see it? 

She didn't make it all the way to the top. Instead, she came to rest on a large rocky ledge that jutted out from the cliff wall, and decided that that was good enough. She could still see everything, and oh, what a glorious sight it was! 

The three piles had grown into huge bonfires, consuming all the trees around them. The cracklings of wood echoed throughout the valley and the heat was immense. Three skyscraper-sized columns of smoke rose up and a steady haze began to drift over everything, covering the land in an inescapable blanket. 

The Capitol audience watched on in amazement as the remaining tributes began to run for their lives, some coughing, some sobbing, all scared of being burned to a crisp. Sure, they weren't getting the glorious, bloody battles they were expecting, but still! This was a nice change of pace. 

Then the screens switched to Sylvia, and everyone stared at them, wondering what she was going to do now. 

Sylvia laughed. 

Quietly at first, then it grew into a crescendo of uncharacteristic joy. 

She laughed and laughed and laughed; great big bellows that made her chest heave in and out in rapid succession. She laughed so hard that tears began to roll down her cheeks. 

Then, she threw her hands into the air and began to scream. Then cheer. Then dance around with a wild, primal lightfootedness. Still screaming, still cheering. 

How could she not? The world was on fire! The Fire Spirit was happy as well! It was time to celebrate! 

She danced around in circles alongside the Fire Spirit, who did not cheer like she did, but was still clearly very impressed by how things had turned out. 

_You have done well, child. This filthy world will now be cleansed, alongside those who live in it, partaking in all that filth. Fire. This is how it should be. Fire._

It was the most happy he'd ever been about anything! 

When the three bonfires merged into one enormous ball of flame, Sylvia gave a leap of joy. 

Down below, however, it was a very different story. 

The girls from One and Two had fallen victim to the fire, while their district partners were running, trying to make a desperate escape from the heat licking at their heels. 

“Come on!” Gaius shouted, his face damp with sweat and black with soot, “To the cliffs!” 

Lord had ditched his weapons and backpack in order to get rid of the extra weight. But he didn't feel any less heavy for it. Every breath he took allowed more and more smoke to invade his lungs. Every step he took drained more of his energy until he could no longer carry on. 

He fell to his knees. Gaius turned around and tried to drag him back to his feet. Lord weakly shoved him away. 

“Forget it,” he choked out, “I'm not gonna make it.” 

“Bu-” 

“Just go, man. Just go and live.” 

Gaius took one last look at the boy he'd become fast friends with, and turned around and ran away. 

He didn't make it very far himself before he too collapsed. 

Two cannons rang out, followed swiftly by two more as the girls from Four and Five, having run into each other, came to a mutual agreement to stab one another rather than let the flames get them. 

As Sylvia heard the cannons boom, she became aware of her own voice becoming more tired and hoarse. She gave a mighty cough, then let out another cheer. Yes, her voice definitely sounded different. And her throat was tingling too. It felt dry and scratchy. 

Then she became aware of the fact that she could no longer breathe properly. Every breath she took seemed like a struggle. She coughed and spluttered, trying to rid herself of whatever was wrong with her. 

Then she realised that it was getting harder to see. The smoke covered the false sky, plunging the arena into near-darkness. 

Sylvia fell to her knees, vomited what little she’d eaten beforehand, then collapsed onto her stomach. 

The remaining tributes were having an even worse time. The boy from Five had been pinned under a burning branch. The pair from Ten ended up getting separated and dying alone and in pain. The boy fell due to smoke inhalation. The girl tripped over a rock and landed in a patch of fire. 

But it was Cable who had the worst time if all. Being that he had a massive phobia of fire, he wouldn't stop screaming and crying for his mother to save him. His eyes blurred with his tears and, in his temporary blindness, ended up stumbling into a corner at the bottom of the cliffs, his back against the rock and fire in every other direction. He didn't have the upper-body strength required to climb the cliffs. He was trapped. 

Cable could do nothing but wail helplessly as the fire closed in. 

When his cannon finally sounded after five agonizing minutes, a rainstorm appeared overhead. As the downpour began extinguishing the raging inferno, the trumpets blared, followed by Claudius’s voice declaring an unconscious Sylvia Morris, of District Seven, the Victor.


	22. Chapter 22

After two weeks, Sylvia emerged from the hospital no worse for wear. She was lucky to have escaped with no serious injuries, and that the ones she did get were easily treatable. 

During her Victor’s interview, Caesar noted that she seemed pretty cross. Even though she was shockingly happy in the arena, it had been replaced with a quiet but visible anger. 

It was because the rest of the world was still standing. Yes, she had survived the Hunger Games, yes she had done the Fire Spirit’s work, but that work was far from over. 

When she still had the whole world to go, only burning the arena seemed kind of pathetic. 

But no matter. She would do it. 

She didn't know when she would get the opportunity though. It had taken her all sixteen years of her life to be able to even burn the arena; how much longer would she have to wait for another chance at destruction? 

The answer was simply: too long. She would be waiting for too long. 

Sylvia didn't care that she was the first District Seven Female to survive in nearly fifty years. She didn't care that her eleven kills meant that she had set a new record. She didn't care that she was also the Victor with the lowest training score. 

The Fire Spirit wanted her to continue her work, and that was what she would do.


	23. Chapter 23

During Games season for the next three years, all the other Victors kept their distance. Well, almost all of them. 

Calico was seen trying to strike up conversations with her a few times, until Lonnie would drag him away, whispering about the dangers of getting too close to someone like her. Then Cecelia would tell her not to be so rude, that Sylvia could probably hear them talking about her. 

Berry and Logan only spoke to her a few times, more out of politeness than anything else. She was from their district, a child of Seven just like them, but that was where it ended. 

But Davy was the only one actually willing to approach her. He never disclosed to anyone why he did so, but it was because he was sick of feeling ostracised from the others. He couldn't help it if he dropped things sometimes! And he hated the way everyone always referred to him as ‘kid’. As if he wasn't even worth considering. Mean. 

And if he and Sylvia were always ostracised, then maybe they could be ostracised together. 

So he always sat with Sylvia, ate with her, talked with her. She, much to everyone's shock, was actually somewhat reciprocative. Sylvia had always been a lone wolf, so to see her interacting with somebody that wasn't the Fire Spirit, especially when that somebody was Davy, was interesting. 

She never said much, of course, but that was fine with Davy. 

Despite the fact that their relationship still wasn't particularly close, Davy was always happy to refer to Sylvia as his friend. 

Sylvia wasn't big on friends, but she liked Davy fine enough. It was always nice to feel welcome, even if there was only one person doing the welcoming.


	24. Chapter 24

When the Victors travelled to the Capitol for the 65th Games, they noted that Sylvia was not among them. Well, it was really only Davy who noticed. 

Davy was confused when he couldn't find her, so he found the other Seven Victors and asked them where she was. To his further confusion, they apparently didn't know either. 

“She didn't meet up with us when we got ready to leave,” Berry told him, “and she never came to the train station. She probably just decided not to come this year.” 

Davy was disappointed. He had been looking forward to seeing his friend all year. And now she wasn't here, and he had to be by himself. Okay, fine. Whatever. 

Why hasn't she showed? Was she feeling ill? Did something happen to her? What was going on? 

He’ll just have to wait and see if she showed up next year.


	25. Chapter 25

She didn't show up next year. Or the year after that, or the year after that. There was nor hide or hair of her, and the other Seven Victors were curiously quiet on the whole matter. The only time they talked about it was when Berry told Davy, “Just leave it. She's not coming back.” 

“But why? What's wrong?” 

“I said to just leave it, Davy.” Berry turned to leave. 

“Is she dead?” 

Berry stopped. “No. She's not. But seriously, just stop bugging us about this.” 

“Berry!” Davy was embarrassingly close to tears. “She's my friend! Why won't you tell me what's going on?” 

Berry gave him a sympathetic look, but didn't budge. “I'm sorry, Davy, but it's really none of your business.” Then she left. 

And so Davy was left alone, worried sick and so confused. What the fuck was going on? What was with all the secrecy? Why? 

Unfortunately, no one else knew what was going on, or more accurately, they didn't care about what was going on. 

“I don't know, honey,” Carlie said. 

“Dunno. But I'm saying ‘good riddance’,” Gloss said. “She was fucking creepy.” 

“Seriously kid, please just shut up about this,” Brady growled. “It's clearly none of your business, anyway.” 

“Why are you so upset about this?” Finnick inquired, having been out of the loop. He'd never met Sylvia, but he remembered her Games quite clearly. Why was Davy so intent on finding her? 

“Because she's my friend!” Davy responded. 

“Why are you even friends with her?” Harlan grumbled. “Her kind only ever brings trouble. You did watch her Games, right?” 

Davy bristled. 

Harlan continued on. “Why do you let yourself worry so much, boy? I don't understand what you even see in her. You need-” 

“Piss off, Harlan,” Davy bit back, “just because you don't have any friends doesn't mean you can insult me for having one, you sad old sack of wrinkles.” 

“Davy!” Carlie snapped. She was drowned out by Charisse and Dominic laughing. 

“He's not wrong,” they said. 

Cecelia put her arm around Davy’s shoulders and led him away before he could say something else he might regret. All the anger drained from his face. Now he looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment. 

“Why is everyone so mean?” he whined. 

“People like Sylvia just don't fit in very well,” Cecelia told him gently, “ she's just too different. People don't really know how to handle her.” A more serious look swept over her face. She looked Davy straight in the eyes. 

“I understand that you're worried, but you really should stop bugging the others about this. It won't make them care any more than they already do.” 

Davy sank his shoulders in defeat. “Alright, I guess.”


	26. Chapter 26

Sylvia was still in Seven. In fact, she hadn't even left the bedroom of her house since winter. It wasn't by choice. Well, it wasn't her choice, at least. 

After her Games, her family only grew more and more scared of her with each year that passed. They had seen what she was capable of. And if she wasn't properly reigned in, then only god knows what would happen. 

But the way they tried to control her was a little too extreme. 

Years and years later, historians would debate this very topic. Why hadn't the Morris family gotten proper treatment for Sylvia? Sure, there weren't any good psychiatrists in Seven, but there were in the Capitol. Hell, there was even a care home, with some of the best doctors in the country. And money was no longer an issue. They could afford it. 

One historian named Peridot Chancer suggested that the reason could have something to do with the family simply panicking and doing the first thing they could think of doing. Or maybe they were ashamed of their daughter and didn't want any more attention to be brought to her. Or maybe this was their way of punishing her for all the trouble she had caused them. To be honest, Peridot wasn't really sure herself. There were many possibilities. 

Whatever the reason, Sylvia entered her bedroom and never came back out. 

The windows were boarded up. The door was replaced with a thicker, stronger one. There was no way out. 

She had everything she needed in there. There was her bedroom with her bed, clothes, television and personal effects. She had an ensuite bathroom. Food was slipped in through a specially installed slot in the door. For other necessary items that were too big to fit, the door was opened and guarded carefully while the items were placed inside the room. 

Otherwise, Sylvia was left completely alone. Alone with everything but her freedom. 

She did not feel lonely, however. She had the Fire Spirit, after all. And of course, the usual faces and voices that would pop up out of nowhere. In the dim light that seeped through the boards and thick curtains on the windows, faces floated up and down the walls. Voices would talk to her, even if there wasn't a face to go with them. 

Not all of them were friendly, though. Some screamed curses at her. Others simply cried and moaned in pain. 

And there were several, that Sylvia was so sure worked for the Weatherman, that told her she was useless, pathetic, weak. Fire was useless. It would never stand up to the power of rain. She was stupid for thinking otherwise. 

Sylvia yelled and threw her books, ornaments and whatever else she could at them. She could never hit them, however. They would simply slide away up the wall, laughing as they went. 

Downstairs, everyone fell silent during these tirades.


	27. Chapter 27

With little else to really do, Sylvia watched a lot of television, including the Hunger Games. Her first year of imprisonment saw the boy from Four win. The next year, it was the kooky girl from Six. After that, the boy from One. 

And then the boy from Eleven. The girl from Nine. The girl from Four. Another girl from Seven - another win for home. Then the girl from Ten, the boy from Two and a double victory from Twelve, of all places. 

She had so many new names and faces to remember: Augustus, Jupiter, Sable, Isaiah, Katniss. What they were like. How they won. It was the most intrigued she'd ever been about anything that wasn't fire. After all, there wasn't much else to do in her bedroom. 

Yet she kept finding herself forgetting. Was Jupiter from One or Two? Why did Sun always wear that black cloak in her arena, and what arena did she have, again? Which one was Katniss, and which one was Peeta? 

Her memories of the Victors just kept getting pushed aside by other things. Not just her usual daydreams of fire, but other stuff too. 

Like how the Fire Spirit was constantly hanging over her shoulder, angrily demanding that she burn something already. He'd never gotten angry with her like that before. Only ever at the Weatherman. 

Sylvia cried. She hadn't meant to anger him. She wanted to do his bidding, really she did, but she just couldn't right now. She was trapped. How could he not see that? 

_“Useless,”_ he would growl at her, _“are you a child of fire or not?”_

“I am,” Sylvia sobbed. 

_“You're not doing anything to convince me.”_

“I _can't!_ I can't get out! They won't let me out! I don't know what to do!” 

_“Useless. Utterly useless.”_

Sylvia could only sit and wonder why so many of her loved ones had turned on her so suddenly. Her family were the ones who put her here in the first place. They wouldn't let her out, no matter how much she wailed for them to do so. 

Berry, Logan and all the other Seven Victors had simply turned their backs on her. Why? Wasn't she one of them now? 

But it was the Fire Spirit’s newfound hatred of her that stung the most. For so long he had been her best friend, the one who was there for her when no one else was. To hear him speak that way to her just about broke her heart. 

Sylvia was well and truly alone.


	28. Chapter 28

After the Seventieth Games, Davy accompanied Finnick and Annie on the latter’s Victory Tour. Finnick was his tribute, and Annie was Finnick’s. It just felt like he should be there. 

Plus, it was nice to get out of Four every once in a while. 

And he wanted to try and find Sylvia. 

As Annie stumbled and stuttered her way through her speech in Seven, Davy saw only four of the district’s Victors onstage with them, instead of five. Darren caught the saddened look in his eye and in response gave him a cautious shake of the head. 

As soon as Annie left on a customary tour of the district, accompanied by Finnick’s comforting presence, Davy slipped away and headed towards the Victor’s Village. The only other person in sight was Berry sitting in her wheelchair on her front stoop, her personal aide unlocking the door. She looked irritated as Davy walked up to her, intending to ask which house was Sylvia’s. 

“What do you think you're doing here?” 

Davy was taken aback by the bitter tone of her voice. “I just want to know where Sylvia lives,” he said quietly. 

Berry jabbed a thumb at a house down the row from hers. “There. Now I swear to god, you'd better not bug us about this again, you hear?” 

Davy nodded wordlessly and scampered off towards the house. 

Berry watched him go with narrowed eyes. “Just leave this alone,” she whispered in his direction. 

Davy knocked on the front door. An elderly woman with the same fluffy blonde hair as Sylvia answered it. She was quite surprised to see the Victor of the Fifty-Ninth Games on her doorstep. “Can I help you?” 

“Hi, um, I was just wondering if Sylvia’s in,” he said nervously. _Please let her be here, please let her be here…_

The woman’s brow furrowed. “Yes, she's in, but she's not taking visitors right now, I'm sorry.” She went to shut the door, but Davy shot out a leg and wedged his foot in. 

“Please, I want to see her! I haven't heard from her in years and nobody will tell me what's going on and I'm really worried about her! She's my friend!”

The woman blinked. “I didn't think she had any friends. She's not a very social person, you know.” 

“She has me!” 

She shook her head. “I'm sorry, but she can't have any visitors right now.” Her face was apologetic as she shut the door, for good this time. 

Davy’s shoulders slumped. 

So Sylvia was at home, but she can't see visitors? Is something wrong with her - apart from the obvious, of course? And why exactly was everyone so hush-hush about it? 

And why won't anyone tell him about it? He was her friend, after all! 

He dejectedly walked back the way he came and met up with Finnick and Annie once their tour was done. 

Finnick raised his eyebrows at him. What's gotten you down?” 

Davy shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing,” he said sadly.


	29. Chapter 29

Sylvia pulled the curtains back. Her parents hated it when she did that, but hopefully they wouldn't notice her doing it now. 

She gazed out through a crack in the wooden boards, past the dusty glass and at the treetops beyond, rising up tall and jagged in the distance. How she wished to be among them right now. She wanted to see them burn to the ground, reducing their silent and wise structures into nothing but ash and smoke. 

She needed to do that. 

If only she could just get out, run away into the woods, then she could set them on fire and show the Fire Spirit that she wasn't useless. She was worth everything to him. 

She had to. 

It ached to see the outside world. It hurt to see all that timber taunting her from her prison. At least in an actual proper prison, she was still allowed outside. 

The faces in the shadows on the walls mocked her misery, imitated her tears, and displayed a twisted reflection of her heart. 

She encircled her fingers around the boards on the windows and pressed her forehead against them. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. 

What was she going to do about all this?


	30. Chapter 30

One month before the reaping for the Seventy-Fifth Games.

The spring morning dawned bright and clear, though it was still quite cold outside. The flowers slowly began opening up their petals to receive the sunlight. The air was alive with the perfume of flowers and the sound of bees buzzing as people started to go about their days heading to work or school. So far, it was looking to be just another ordinary day for the citizens of Seven.

Blight stepped out onto his porch, swathed in a fluffy bathrobe with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigar in the other. He breathed in the air, temporarily clearing the smoke from his lungs before taking another drag.

It was quiet in the Victor's Village. He was grateful for that. He liked to have the silence. He was glad that he was no longer obligated to stop and have a full-on chat with everyone he passed on the street. Out here though, all he had to do was say a quick hello to his fellow Victors, maybe a little nod, and that was it.

The air was a little hazy out here. He could smell smoke, much more than his cigar could ever produce. He wondered if Berry was burning leftover mulch and grass clippings again. She usually had people over to do so about once a month. Today must be that day…

...But hang on, didn't she do that last week?

Blight went out into his front garden and looked around. The smoke wasn't coming from Berry's house. It was coming from Sylvia's.

He dropped his coffee and cigar and raced over to the house. He couldn't even reach their garden because the intense heat drove him back. As he shielded his face, he became aware of several other figures moving over to him.

It was the other Victors - Darren, Johanna, and Logan pushing Berry in her wheelchair. All there with their mouths agape.

"Oh my god!" Berry croaked out, her voice weak with age and horror. "Sylvia! Where's her family! Are they still inside?"

"Haven't seen them," Blight felt the first coils of dread unfurl in his gut. He turned away from the scene. "I'm going for the fire services!"

Darren braved the heat and ran into the garden, not yet alight. "Someone help me find the garden hose!" he called out.

Johanna did so, stony-faced.

Logan and Berry just stood there, watching the house burn. Smoke poured out of every orifice and tongues of flame leapt up to give the wooden structure a kiss of lethality.

Above the cracklings and roar of the heat, there was another sound too.

A scream.

Berry clutched a hand to her chest and keeled over, never to straighten back up again.

The fire services arrived twenty minutes later. It took them twelve hours to completely extinguish the fire.

The Morris house had been completely reduced to its foundations. Very little of the wooden walls or furniture remained. Very little of the human occupants remained either. Only a handful of ashy bones.

The Capitol was saddened by the loss of one of their Victors, especially one so confusingly entertaining. Sylvia's small fanbase generously paid to send over several forensic analysts to help determine whose bones were whose, so that they could be buried properly. It was them who discovered something shocking.

The bones were that of an elderly man and woman and a middle-aged man. And that was it.

There were no bones of a middle-aged woman. No Sylvia.

Her bones were nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! This story had been in the works for months before I published it and I always worried that it wasn't good enough, so to see you enjoy it make me so happy! 
> 
> See you all in the next story!


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